


Northward Ho!

by grey_waters



Category: Death Road to Canada
Genre: Action, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Minor canon divergence, Road Trips, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 19:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey_waters/pseuds/grey_waters
Summary: Marcy is tired of a life fixing junk in Florida, and hears that Canada offers a bastion of civilization. But the journey will be far from easy. Can she brave what the Death Road has to throw at her, or will her group end up as a few more skeletons?(This is basically just a novelization of a hypothetical playthrough. Some minor canon divergence, mostly in regards to game mechanics not really making sense in "real life".)





	Northward Ho!

A light wind blew though the trader camp, carrying a few dead leaves to the empty firepit, where two figures- quite different in both appearance and mannerisms- were in conversation.

"Yeah, Canada. They've still got a real country up there. Th' warriors in red keep th' zombies out." The old man had a wrinkled face and a leather jacket. He held a green bottle, nearly empty, and a pistol on his hip. "'S real dangerous near the border, though. They say th' zombos gather because they kin smell all the people up north." He took another swig.

"Interesting. You've been up north yourself? Are there any trader camps up there?" The younger woman's grease-stained face had a focused look. She wrote in a notebook with a pencil stub as the old man spoke.

"Oh, yeah, there's camps all over. But I'm warnin' ya, missy, ya need to be tough as nails to get anywhere near there. Ya don't know how good we have it down here in Florida, with so few zombos."

"I'll keep that in mind. Now, if you don't know anything else about Canada..." She stood up.

"Nah. But if ya've made up your mind to go... don't do it alone. A team's th' best way t'roll." A wistful look came over the old man's face. He stared at the ground as Marcy walked away.

* * *

_How good we have it down here? Ha! Surviving off of canned food and scrounging for scraps is no way to live. Whatever Canada is really like, it can't be worse than here._ She thought as she walked back to her home. If you could call it a home, which she didn't, because it wasn't. It was a tent, with a rusted car husk next to it, and a few machinery parts scattered around. She sat down on a tire and took a look around the familiar camp. There were the two houses, the reason this place had sprung up- one occupied by some ammo-selling siblings, and the other a common area. Around the houses were the vehicles and tents of the traveling traders, who roamed from camp to camp hawking their wares. She would have done the same, if her livelihood wasn't tied to bulky pieces of machinery that she taught people how to repair.

Marcy went into her tent and looked at the supplies. Three days' worth of food. Two flashlights. Two changes of underwear- _oh god, I hope I can find some new clothes. Everything I own is so filthy._ The sturdiest backpack she could find, packed with her repair tools and miscellaneous possessions. And a particularly solid wrench that she had been practicing swinging around.

And the car. The car, parked in the woods nearby, meticulously tuned and patched up ever since she had found it a few weeks prior, and loaded with all the gasoline she could buy. The car- her ticket out of here. 

As she flipped though her notebook, rereading every piece of information she had gathered from passerby about the route to Canada, she contemplated the old man's parting advice. Would it be better to recruit other people? More people meant more power against zombies and bandits. It also meant the supplies would run out quicker. And who's to say the recruit wouldn't turn out to be a bandit themself?

_Well, because we're going to be in this together, against the zombies. And besides, if you can't trust other humans, we're truly doomed as a species. Also, there's no way I can fight a horde of zombies by myself._

This last point was what finally sealed her decision to look for someone to make the journey with. As Marcy packed up the supplies, she realized her hands were shaking. _I'm really doing this. I'm going to Canada._

She reached the edge of the road, where a few travelers congregated. One of the traders was trying to get a fire going in the pit, and the old man was nowhere to be seen as the weak trail of smoke, battered by the breeze, faded into the morning sky. She scanned the people standing around.

A group of four with a muscle car- _No good, those things only have four seats and they look tight-knit._

A man leaning against a food truck and trying to convince one of the traders to buy something- _He's just trying to get a business off the ground._

A sneering woman with faded blue hair, leaning on a motorcycle- _Looks untrustworthy. And probably unwilling to abandon the bike._

That left... the short woman with a baseball bat slung across her back, staring at a map with a blank look on her face.

Marcy took a deep breath, put on a friendly smile, and tapped the woman on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I notice that you have a map of Florida there. Do you happen to be heading north?" She asked politely, while sizing up the woman. Muscled, in the way that comes with hard work, not deliberate conditioning. Dirty face and clothes, typical for travelers. And a surprisingly open posture, contrary to the wary hunch that many people had adopted.

"Uhh, yeah, I am. But my car broke down a few days ago, so I ditched it. Why?" Marcy noticed that the map was, in fact, a tourist map featuring the locations of various alligator sanctuaries across the state, and rather little actual road information.

"Well, I'm heading north too. And it's always safer to travel in groups, so I was wondering if you'd like to... travel together?"

The woman's face brightened. "Oh, that'd be great! Me and Jimmy have been alone for awhile, and we could make a good team."

"Jimmy?"

"Oh! Jimmy, say hello." The woman showed Marcy a little smiley face that was drawn on the baseball bat. "Jimmy and I have been together since before all this started! He was my favourite bat even back when I played baseball!"

Marcy gave a patient smile. "Uh... hello, Jimmy. I'm Marcy, short for Marceline."

The woman put Jimmy back across her back. "My name is Emma. It's not short for anything... I think. Where are you going?"

 _Okay... clearly not the sharpest nail in the toolbox. But she seems fairly athletic. Could be great in a fight._ "Canada, actually. I want to live free of zombies."

"Oh, wow! I've heard about that place, but I never really thought about going! It'd be great to be able to play baseball again instead of having to hit zombies! Plus, I heard you can get more food as you go north, 'cause there's less people."

"Yes, I've heard that too." Marcy replied. "So... are you willing to travel with me? I'm a skilled mechanic"- _relatively speaking_ \- "and I can hold my own in a fight. I know it's sudden, but-"

"Sure I will! You seem like a good person. Marcy 'n' Emma, zombie fighters!"

"...Great! I've got a car in the woods nearby, if you'll follow me..."

* * *

Marcy packed up her supplies and tent, and said goodbye to the few acquaintances she had in the camp. They all wished her luck, but no one else seemed to think that going to Canada was a worthwhile endeavor. She took a final look at the camp that had been her home for the past year, and walked to the car. Good riddance.

"Oh, woow! This car look really nice! I like the colour green. Our baseball uniforms were green." Emma chattered as they loaded their stuff into the trunk. For her part, she only had a day's worth of food and the bat on her back. Marcy wondered how Emma would have fared if she hadn't joined her.

The shaky hands returned as Marcy put the keys in the ignition. _This is it. The start of the path to a better life._

The car roared down the road as the fire, now fully going, sent its smoke up to meet the steady gaze of the sun.


End file.
